


Ronald Weasley's Holiday Guide on How (Not) To Get A Girlfriend

by lysscor



Series: 25 Days of Christmas [13]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christmas, F/M, First Meetings, Shopping, ron is so dumb jhffgfh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:14:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21809383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lysscor/pseuds/lysscor
Summary: In which Ron Weasley panics in the face of pretty girls, and Hermione Granger is a very pretty girl indeed.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Series: 25 Days of Christmas [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1548013
Comments: 9
Kudos: 32





	Ronald Weasley's Holiday Guide on How (Not) To Get A Girlfriend

**Author's Note:**

> i forgot to post this yesterday!!! I put it in my drafts and everything omg i am: dumbass but here's Day 14, just a little bit late  
> Prompt: Gifts

How “gift wrapping” was even a job - a real job, that people got  _ paid _ to do - Ron Weasley had never understood. Wrapping gifts wasn’t that hard, and if you _ really _ couldn’t wrap something, you could just buy a gift bag and call it good. Why  _ pay _ someone to fold paper around a box and stick a nametag on it? Ron thought it was an absurd waste of money.

Or at least, he  _ had _ thought that, until he’d seen the girl the mall’s gift wrapping kiosk had employed for this Christmas season. Well, one of the girls anyway (that was another thing - why was it only ever girls who worked there?). She was cute, in a dorky sort of way. She was short - much shorter than him - with frizzy brown hair pulled into a loose bun. She was wearing a chunky, cable-knit yellow jumper with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows and she was staring at the blonde girl beside her as if she couldn’t decide whether she was amused or annoyed. It wasn’t hard to see why - she had huge snowmen dangling from her ears and the most revolting Christmas sweater Ron had ever seen, and was handing a customer a truly awfully wrapped box with a dreamy expression on her face. The girl with the yellow sweater settled for shaking her head with a fond sort of exasperation and returning to her own parcel. When she smiled, Ron could see front teeth that were just slightly too big for her mouth, and his heart did a funny little flip. 

Suddenly, the people queueing up to have their gifts wrapped didn’t seem quite so foolish. Suddenly, Ron wanted to jump right in line behind them.

“Ron,” Harry called from a few steps ahead. “You coming?”

Ron startled, realized he’d stopped walking to stare at the girl (who was now laughing at something the blonde girl had said as she stuck a green bow on top of her package) and hurried to catch up. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “Sorry. Got distracted.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “I could tell.” He shot a knowing glance in the direction of the kiosk, but Ron pretended not to notice and Harry didn’t press the matter. Ron was glad - Fred and George would have teased him mercilessly, and Ginny wouldn’t have been any better. It was nice to see his siblings hadn’t corrupted his best friend.

Ron cleared his throat, racking his brain for a change of subject. “I’m starved,” he said. “You?”

Ron thought that would be the end of it. He’d just thought she was cute, that was all. He’d thought the exact same thing of countless other girls in his seventeen years of life, and that had always been the end of it. He probably wouldn’t even see her again. No sense in dwelling, right?

But dwell he did. He found, as he and Harry rejoined the throng of Christmas shoppers, that he couldn’t quite shake her from his thoughts. When the barista asked for his name when he ordered a coffee, he wondered what the girl in the yellow sweater’s name was. When Harry picked out a necklace for his mother, Ron wondered what kinds of necklaces the girl in the yellow sweater wore. When Ron wondered aloud what flavour chocolate Ginny would prefer (strawberry, Harry informed him), he wondered silently what kind the girl in the yellow sweater liked best. 

He had no idea what was going on. Yes, the girl in the yellow sweater had been cute - but she wasn’t  _ beautiful _ . He’d seen much better looking girls in his time, and none of  _ them _ had gotten under his skin like this. Why the bloody hell was  _ she _ so special?

Ron found excuses to walk past her three more times before they left the mall, stealing surreptitious glances at her each time. Harry, good bloke that he was, pretended not to notice.

***

_ This is stupid. This is so incredibly, abundantly stupid. _

Ron was queueing up behind a harassed-looking lady with several shopping bags and two screaming children. He was clutching the box of chocolates he’d bought Ginny the previous day and feeling like the world’s biggest tosser. Seriously, what was he  _ thinking _ ? Was he really so pathetic that he would stand in line behind screeching toddlers for God knows how long, and  _ pay money _ just to have a chance to talk to some girl?

Apparently, yes he was. 

He peeked over the shoulder of the woman ahead of him, barely having to crane his neck. The girl was there again, thank goodness. This time, she was wearing a baggy red roll neck jumper, and her hair was tied in an incredibly bushy ponytail fastened with elastics with little red baubles. It bounced adorably each time she moved her head. She handed her customer the newly wrapped gift with a dazzling smile and Ron looked away, a flush creeping up his cheeks.

The line inched forward. Ron wanted to bail. He might have, too, had the person behind him not stepped on his heel and startled him into motion. Ahead of him, the mother was scolding her children in the angry hushed tones all mothers use when scolding their children in public. The children were sulking.

As the line continued to move forward, Ron continued to rehearse what he would say to the girl. He would be smooth. Confident, but not cocky. Flirty, but not desperate. He would ask her about her day, compliment her hair, tell her red was her colour. She would giggle shyly, sweetly, and gaze timidly at him from below her lashes. When she asked him what she should write on the tag, he would ask for her phone number. He would be cool and suave and irresistible.

“Next!”

Ron’s heart leapt into his throat. He stepped forward, nearly tripped over his feet and accidentally slammed his box on the counter, nearly bashing his face in the process. He looked up, blushing furiously. Maybe she hadn’t noticed.

(She had.)

He said nothing as she took the box with a practiced smile. Nodded dumbly when she asked which wrapping paper he would like. Blushed darker than he thought possible when she raised a confused eyebrow.

“Gred,” he blurted, then resisted the urge to slam his face against the counter. “I - I meant red. The red one. Paper, that is. Red.”

He tried hard not to visibly cringe. Maybe he hadn’t sounded as stupid as he thought.

(He had.)

She simply nodded, almost warily, and set to wrapping the gift. Ron waited for the Earth to open up and swallow him whole.

“Would you like ribbon on it?” the girl asked.

“Uhm.” Ron cleared his throat.  _ Be cool. Be cool _ . “Yes. Please. Gold, please.” He winced.  _ That was the opposite of cool. _

“Gold bow as well?”

“Sure.”

“And what shall I write on the tag?”

“Just - just ‘Ginny’, I guess. That’s - that’s who it’s for.”

“Yes, I figured.”

“She’s my sister.” 

“Wonderful.”

“Not my girlfriend, or anything.” She raised an eyebrow. His ears burned. “I mean, not - not that it matters. But. She’s not. My girlfriend.”

“Right.”

She handed him the package, again with that practiced smile, though it was a tad strained at this point. Ron squeaked out a weak “thank you”, turned, and practically ran away before she could even tell him to have a good day. He didn’t look back once.

She could see the red of his ears until he rounded the corner.

***

Ron’s mother liked to say that the definition of insanity was doing the exact same thing over and over and hoping for different results.

Ron must have been insane. 

Maybe he was just a glutton for punishment. Either way, he’d been stewing in embarrassment over his complete failure at talking to the pretty girl for not two days before he decided it was high time to try again. Why? He really couldn’t say. But alas, here he was, next in line to the pretty girl’s kiosk and clutching a book of new knitting patterns for his mother. Again, he’d been rehearsing what to say to her - this time taking into account his utter incompetence in the face of any kind of pressure - and was fairly sure it wouldn’t be a flop (or at least, it couldn’t be as bad as the first time).

“Next!”

She was wearing a cardigan today - dusty green over a white t-shirt - and her hair was in two braids. Ron stepped up - careful to watch his feet this time - and set the book gently down on the counter. A little too gently, if her bemused expression was anything to go by.

“Uh,” he said, ever articulate, “Hi.”

“Hi,” she said. “Again.”

His heart soared - she remembered him! - but then dropped like a stone. If she remembered him, she remembered what a fool he’d made of himself last time. He couldn’t think of what to say - everything he’d been practicing had flown away the second she opened her mouth - so he said the first thing that popped into his head. 

“You’re really very pretty.”

Incidentally, he said it at the exact same time that she said “Which wrapping paper would you like?”, which meant she followed up with: “Oh, I’m sorry. What was that you said?”

Ron went as red as a tomato. Redder, in fact. He thought his head was going to explode right there, what with the speed that every ounce of blood in his body was rushing to it. He almost wished it would. He swallowed, fighting his body’s sudden impulse to run. “I. Um. I said you’re very pretty.”

She stared at him. And stared. And Ron was ready for death to take him.

“Thanks,” she said finally and her voice was strained. Uncomfortable.

_ God, if you’re listening, what did I do to deserve this?  _ He figured now was as good a time as any to start making plans to flee the country, change his name, begin a new life as a solitary fisherman in Thailand, never speak to another human being as long as he lived. 

“Um. Which wrapping paper would you like?”

“Green, please.” On the bright side, he wasn’t nervous anymore. This was it. He’d reached rock bottom. The ultimate level of embarrassment. There was nowhere to go from here but up.

“Ribbon?”

“Just - just a bow. Red.”

“The tag?”

“Mom.” 

Had he been paying any attention, he would have noticed that her tone was shy rather than uncomfortable, and that her smile was not at all strained. He would have noticed that her face was as red as his was as she handed him his gift, and he might have guessed that she did not think him quite as much a fool as he imagined.

As it were, he noticed none of these things. He was too busy trying to think of the best way to avoid ever showing his face in public ever again. Maybe he could dig an extremely deep hole in his backyard and just stay there for the rest of his days. Maybe he could wander off into the woods and build a shack out of twigs and leaves. 

When she handed him the present, he slunk away like a kicked dog, more mortified than he had been in his life. He swore to himself, then and there, that he would never come back to that damned kiosk.

***

He came back to the damned kiosk. Several times, in fact. One would think that after fatally embarrassing himself not once, but  _ twice  _ in front of this girl that he would be sensible enough to stay away. Write it off as a bad job and laugh with Harry about what a mess he’d made of things. 

But no. That was not what Ron had chosen to do. He had chosen to come up to her  _ again _ , despite the flashing warning signs in his brain telling him to turn around before it was too late.

Despite his trepidations, the third time passed without incident. Possibly because he was still slightly catatonic from last time’s disaster. After that, he found each visit slightly less humiliating than the last. Sure, he had accidentally told her to write Ben instead of Bill, and he’d choked on his spit when she asked him how his day had been, but he figured the worst was over with. He’d even made her laugh once, though he wasn’t entirely sure whether it had only been for politeness’ sake. 

The fifth time he stopped by, with an “encyclopaedia” on dragons for Charlie, she noted conversationally that he had a lot of people to buy presents for. He told her, truthfully, that he had a large family, and he counted it a success that he didn’t stutter once. 

***

Exactly what Ron was doing in queue at the pretty girl’s kiosk for the eighth time, he could not tell you. He himself wasn’t sure. He didn’t even have a gift for her to wrap. He’d just brought one of his own t-shirts and folded it as if it were a present. Yes, seriously. How stupid could one person get?

This was the question he asked himself as he walked up to her. Today she had on a white button up shirt under a lilac jumper. Her hair was down, for the first time, and it was even bushier than it had seemed in the ponytail, thick frizzy curls framing her face like a lion’s mane. She smiled when she saw him. Ron’s mouth went dry.

“Hi,” she said, and Ron figured he was imagining the fondness in her voice.

(He wasn’t.)

“Hi.” He thrust the shirt towards her with both hands; she took it, looking somewhat startled.

“Which paper?” she asked.

“The one with the snowflakes, please.”

Once the gift was wrapped - no ribbon, silver bow, nametag Johnny (the first name Ron had been able to think of) - the girl handed it to Ron with a smile. Instead of taking it, like a normal person, Ron stood and stared at her, like an idiot.

“I - is everything okay?” the girl asked, her smile faltering.

“Your hair looks lovely,” Ron said instead of answering.

The girl’s face went, if possible, as red as Ron’s did. “Thank you,” she squeaked. 

He didn’t think he was imagining the smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

His voice had vanished. So he just nodded.

Fifteen minutes and a frantic search of the mall’s stores later, he was back, with ten dollars less and one fluffy teddy bear more to his name. He’d had an idea. A stupid idea, probably, but an idea nonetheless. He would probably never be able to show his face in public again after this, but he figured he had nothing to lose. 

He was panting slightly when he reached the kiosk - though he’d started walking just before it was in view so as not to seem too desperate, he’d been practically sprinting this whole time.

There was no line, thankfully, so he was able to place the teddy bear a little too aggressively on the counter. The girl startled.

“Oh,” she said. “Hello again.” She looked curiously at the bear, then grabbed a folded cardboard box from under the counter. “Which wrapping paper would you like?” 

“Whichever’s your favourite,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound quite as out of breath as he thought.

(He did.)

The girl seemed to consider it a moment, then grabbed a roll of brown paper with little red reindeer printed on it. “Any ribbon?”

“You can pick one.”

“Right…” Now staring at him as though she thought he may have gone mad, she fastened a red plaid ribbon around the package and stuck a red bow on top. “And for the tag?”

“I -” he paused, realizing the flaw in his plan. “What’s your name?”

She was now looking at him like he had  _ definitely _ lost his marbles. “It’s Hermione,” she said cautiously.

“Right.” He nodded, as if he’d known all along. He should have known. It was a pretty name; it suited her. “Write that then.”

“ _ What? _ ”

He shrugged like it was no big deal, but his heart was racing. “Write ‘Hermione’.”

“I - alright.” She did, looking utterly nonplussed about it, and handed the wrapped gift to him. He took it, said thanks, paused a moment, then handed it back.

“What -”

“Happy Christmas.”

Hermione stared. And stared. And Ron felt his face warm and he wondered if that had been horribly stupid. Then she laughed, and Ron  _ knew _ it had been horribly stupid.

“That’s the most ridiculous thing anyone’s ever done,” she laughed. “You - you  _ paid _ me to wrap a present, and then you gave that present to me?”

“Y-yes.”

“That’s so  _ cute _ ,” she said. Ron blinked. Blinked again. Processed what she’d said.

“ _ What? _ ” he exclaimed. “But I thought - you just said it was ridiculous!”

“It was,” Hermione agreed. “But it was also very cute.”

“Oh.” Ron’s heart swelled with warmth. She  _ didn’t _ think he was an idiot. She thought he was  _ cute _ . He grinned. “Hermione?”

“Yes?”

“Would you like to go for coffee with me sometime?”

She looked at him like he was an idiot. “Not until I know your name, obviously.”

“It’s Ronald,” he said too quickly, and immediately regretted it. “I mean, Ron. No one calls me Ronald. Well, my mother does, and my Aunt Muriel, but - but everyone just calls me Ron. Ron Weasley.”

Hermione grinned. “Well, Ronald Weasley, I would  _ love _ to go for coffee with you sometime.”

The warmth in Ron’s chest spread throughout his entire body. If the world ended right then, he thought, he wouldn’t mind all that much. He wondered if it was obvious how happy he was.

(It was.)

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be posting the day 15 fic later today!! It's another Harry Potter one and i'm not even a little bit sorry


End file.
